


stars climbing into their planets

by psychedelia



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel, Moon Knight (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Crash Landing, Inspired by Lilo & Stitch, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-12 00:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19554691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelia/pseuds/psychedelia
Summary: it's the summer of '03, and in the middle of the night, Marc Spector crash-lands into Bullseye's life. Literally. Says he comes from space and everything, and well, Bullseye's in desperate need of a friend.





	stars climbing into their planets

**JULY, 2003**

At first, he thinks that maybe Dad’s back home, and that, more than anything, gets him sitting up straight on the bed, his eyes wide and terrified in the dark. It’s the thick of summer and his body is drenched in sweat, ‘cause he can’t exactly afford an air conditioning unit, and at the end of the day, it’s still a trailer baking in the Southern sun all day long, with only the short reprieve of cicada-chirping darkness to even attempt to cool it off. 

There’s a loud  _ bang _ and then another, and then another, and Bullseye feels like his heart’s gonna pump out of his damn chest. Before he knows it, he’s in the living room, sitting on the couch with sweatpants and a t-shirt, away from the bed, away from Dad’s room, not gonna get caught in there, not gonna-- 

Through the small window in the tiny kitchen, he can see smoke pouring up through the treelines of the woods out back, and he realizes, feels awful silly about it even, that maybe,  _ maybe _ it’s not Dad. He shouldn’t feel as relieved as he does.

The smoke is thick and curling, almost black in the way that something that oughta not be burning burns. Maybe half a mile away from the property. 

Well. It’s not like he’s getting back to sleep tonight, and tomorrow’s Sunday, so he doesn’t have to worry about going to work sleep deprived for the fourth day in a row, ‘cause he has the day off.

He pulls on his boots in the darkness, kinda gets lost in the action of lacing them tight, tighter, tightest, ‘till his feet are almost numb, but at least his hands aren’t shaking anymore. At least his heart doesn’t feel like it’ll bounce right out of his chest and fall to the floor, sink to the ground like that one story he had to read in English class about the beating of a heart underneath the wooden floorboards.

He grabs a flashlight from the kitchen (cheaper, sometimes, to just buy some batteries with a few extra dollars than hike up the energy bill all summer long by keeping the lights on), and flicks it on as he steps out the front door, letting the old cracked screen door slam shut behind him. 

The smoke trail beckons, and he flinches when there’s another  _ bang _ and another thick collection of smoke that starts to rise slowly to the sky. 

Above the smoke, the moon is nothing more than a crescent, and Bullseye would almost say it looked like it’s squinting against the smoke. The night is dark because of it; there is very little illumination. 

It must be almost three in the morning, and the grass and leaves on the trees have not yet received their morning dew; the only accompaniment he has are July fireflies and the yearning cries of cicadas. They’re everywhere this year; Wade told him somethin’ about how sometimes cicadas fuck a  _ lot _ and then don’t get born for like, seventeen years, and said it was one of those years.

Their eyes are red as blood and their bodies are green as Christmas trees, and in the daylight, Bullseye likes to hold them and look at them, because he can’t see the colors so good, but he  _ knows _ what they’re supposed to look like, and really they don’t bite much. 

Now, in the night, the occasional  _ thwap _ of their heavy bodies against him when they get spooked and fly into him, is anything but comforting. 

As he gets closer, the crisp night air gives way to the stench of burning metal, burning earth, burning wood, and in the distance, the night sky seems to get brighter, as though an active fire is rampaging it way through… Well, now, Bullseye’s not a learned man, would never claim to be, but he’d be certain it’s a burning car or a plane. Crazy, sure, but if he had to guess… 

And well, he’s not too far off, in the end.

The crater seems to have eviscerated a few trees, creating a makeshift clearing amid the forest foliage. Bullseye knows it’s a new clearing, because he’s been through these woods near everyday since he could walk. A few big oaks on the peripheral are burning near the bases, scorched on the trunks but not up and down the branches, like what lightning would do. No, it’s more of a coordinated burn, the result of the black, polgonic,  _ burning _ spaceship dug deep into the earth, pulling up the clay and the mud to splatter like Woodstock ‘99 for a good fifteen feet.

His eyes catch on the metallic glint glaring off the black metal frame as fire dances in front of it, and he stares for a moment until several things happen at once. 

One: A rock that he picked up absentmindedly gets thrown with instinctual grace as soon as;

Two: A pained voice groans from the edge of the crater, piercing the night air louder than any cicada, just as; 

Three; The black metal spacecraft goes up entirely in flames, making Bullseye scramble back from the edge of the crater, causing the man-- for he’s  _ somethin’ _ as sentient as God intended-- who got, for lack of a better word,  _ thwacked _ with the stone, to wince and jerk forward out of the lip of the torn earth and land half in-half out of the burning rubble.

Bullseye decides not to throw another rock at him.

The man-- boy?-- tries to pull himself up more, but he looks mighty weak, struggling to do much of anything. A solid rock to the temple probably isn’t helping his coordination, and now that Bullseye can see the scene unfold before him, he has to admit that  _ maybe _ the person needs help.

So he darts forward as fast as he can and grabs the boy by the wrists, trying to help him out of the crater. He’s not all that strong; even though he plays softball in the springtime and ends up lifting stuff at work a lot, his body’s always been kinda skinny compared to everyone else, and he gets winded easily sometimes. He powers through it, though, pulling as hard as he can to get the boy out of the dangerous zone. 

They both end up collapsing in a huff on the ground, but at least he’s not in that crater, where the smoke and the fire posed a real threat to his safety. 

He’s heavy. That the first thing Bullseye realizes about him. His weight is pressed all on top of Bullseye’s, and he’s heavier than Bullseye’s ever been. His hair splays all over Bullseye’s chest, and when Bullseye gives a little kick, trying to test if he can wriggle out of this, the boy groans, loud and deep, and tries to roll over onto his back, his hands shooting up to wipe manically at his face. 

He’s  _ covered _ in soot, and whatever cloth his clothes were made of before, they’re now almost black. When his hands come away from his face, he’s got a raccoon-eye thing going on, and it almost makes Bullseye giggle, if he weren’t already occupied by sitting up and trying to catch his breath. 

The burning ship catches his eyes again, and he tries to scramble to his feet, standing over the boy. 

“We gotta-- Y’know, we should pro’lly get out of here. I’m sure the cops’ll be called in soon, and they’d pro’lly arrest you, or maybe even get you to a hospital and experimented on and such, ‘cause my friend Wade, well, he told me that the government  _ experiments _ on aliens.” 

‘Cause that’s what this is, right? And sue him-- he’s a bit sleep deprived and overworked from trying to pay for bills, but he knows an alien crash when he sees one. Or, well, it reminds him of the manically enthusiastic stories what Wade tells him.

The boy surprises him, jerking up to grab him by the wrists and pull himself up to his feet, slightly shaky as he does so. His eyes are big and wide and grey in the dark, and he seems to be searching for something on Bullseye’s face, long enough that Bullseye starts to get itchy and ducks his head down, trying to pull his wrists back. 

He doesn’t let him; The boy’s iron grip stays on him, and when Bullseye glances back up at him, there’s a slight smile playing on his features, like he’s found something that he likes rather a lot. 

“I said we gotta  _ go _ ,” He mumbles, and jerks his hands back again. The boy lets him, mercifully, this time, but he steps closer, right on Bullseye’s tail, and Bullseye takes that as acknowledgement that they can  _ go _ . 

He starts them back towards the trailer, flicking the flashlight back on. The boy seems to want to touch him every now and again, but it’s not the same vice grip that he had before; this is more walking so close he accidentally brushes his shoulder against Bullseye, hits a hand against the fabric of Bullseye’s shirt. 

Like he’s trying to make sure Bullseye’s real, and actually beside him. 

There’s not so many bugs or creepy crawly night animals on their return home. Maybe they got spooked by the fire, or, more likely, the smoke that slowly crawls over the forest floor in acrid, humid clouds.

When they breach the treeline and the trailer is visible, Bullseye gestures to it with the flashlight and says, “I mean-- So long’s you’re not gonna hurt me, you can stay here for the night. You’re like-- So that’s what it is, right? You’re an alien, like--” He gestures the flashlight up to the stars.

The boy follows his gaze for a moment, and then it slowly slides higher, to where the smoke is pumping itself, and he points a soot-covered arm to the crescent moon, instead. 

Bullseye just kinda stares at him for a moment, and then says, “Yeah. Okay. Well. I’ve got some bread if you like toast, and whatnot, and there’s, like, a TV.” He starts walking down the hill, and the boy is hot on his trail again. 

Considerin’ Wade’s told him he has personal boundary issues, Bullseye’s starting to think he might understand what he means now. But he doesn’t mind. 

Maybe he should be scared out of his mind. And well, he was, at first, when he thought it was Dad what was coming home. But this-- maybe it’s just gotta sink in, but this feels--

The boy looks to be his age, reminds him of the football players at school. He’s kinda wide and he looks like works out, and his eyes are so big, like a lamb’s, and he looks so  _ curious _ . Kinda holds his mouth open while Bullseye opens the rickety front door, and when Bullseye flickers the lights on, the boy blinks rapidly and looks around, and he’s  _ smiling _ . 

Smiling like his trailer doesn’t suck and isn’t dirty and old, and then he smiles at Bullseye like he’s not weird and scrawny and off-putting, and well, it kinda feels nice. 

Even if-- “So I mean, I asked you already, but you’re an alien right? Do you talk? Do you even  _ know _ English? You don’t got any like-- antennae or big black eyes and your head is normal shaped and--”

“My name is Marc,” the boy says, and he stands in the dimly lit living room, and he’s got a presence to him, like all the light is shooting towards him, highlighting him, bathing him in the spotlight. It’s almost heavenly, or, if he’s to be believed, lunarly. “I’m the intended Vessel of Lord Khonshu.” 

“Oh. Well. I’m Bullseye, I guess.” 

Marc just smiles at him.

**Author's Note:**

> if it continues, the first part, where they're 16, will be kinda shorter and the focus of the story will be on them as adults, in 2019, as 32 year old fuck up men. but for now, enjoy the sweet lilo and stitch au LOL 
> 
> I'm on tumblr as sekwoja.


End file.
